Obi-Wan Stories

- no obitine

- no quiobi

- generally no mcd (except maybe for order 66)

- no nsfw involving minors

The hospital is in ruins. It took years for them to build it and all it took was one bomb to destroy it all.

Obi-Wan runs his hand along the scorched walls. Everything was here. Bacta, bandages, medications, rations, beds, their only surgery droid. And now it’s gone. Just like everything they built, this fragile progress took years to make and hours to burn. It’s a reminder of just how precarious their position is. MelidaDaan has barely recovered. All it would take is a spark.

“It was definitely the Elders,” Mal says, breaking the silence that had fallen over the Council at the sight of the hospital.

“Do you know why?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I know you should still be in bed,” Daria says, raising an eyebrow.

He ignores her, continuing his inspection of their temporary base. Setting up camp in a bombsite might not be the most comfortable, but it’s hardly the first time.

“They want war,” Mal says, “They want us out of the way, off “their planet”, so they can go back to killing each other.”

Eris traces meaningless patterns in the ash that’s settled over their meeting table. Obi-Wan allows Daria to steer him into a chair. Nield hasn’t moved from the doorway, eyes scanning the sky for threats.

Fragile. Obi-Wan hasn’t thought of his fellow leaders, of himself, as fragile for a long time. But they are. They’ve barely healed from the war, and every bit of progress they make is snatched from them by disaster. It isn’t fair, but nothing is.

“What pushed them to act?” he muses, mostly to himself.

“The presence of the Mandalorians,” Jyfn says, “We’re getting ready to rejoin the galaxy, telling our story.”

Mal grimaces, “I hate to say it, but Jyfn is right. They would’ve done this anyway, but the Mandlorian delegation sped up their timeline. It’s lucky for us, we know they’re serious and they didn’t have enough time to plan. They couldn’t truly devastate us on such short notice.”

Daria snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. She hasn’t stopped hovering since Prince Fett carried him and Nari out of the hospital two days ago. Obi-Wan would be annoyed, but he knows it could be worse. He could have all of them hovering, fussing and being general nuisances. (He scared her, he scared them all. He was almost sure he was going to die and he would’ve done it gladly, but he’s sorry for the pain he’s caused them.)

“This wasn’t devastating enough?” Eris murmurs, “Three people died, hundreds more will. We don’t have stockpiles of bacta, replacements for machines, or anywhere to keep those who are sick and injured. And we don’t have a trade deal anymore.”

“Yes, we do,” Obi-Wan says.

At the same time Mal says, “They would have bombed the Fortress, and the school, and the food stores. We’d starve quicker than we'll die without a hospital.”

Daria kicks his chair, just enough to jolt him, “Don’t be stupid.”

“Whatever they want to keep this deal,” Obi-Wan says softly, “we must do.”

“Within reason!” Daria snaps.

“We don’t know what they want,” he places a hand on hers, “It could be nothing more than the story. If it’s my withdrawal from the Council, then we may have to do it. And if it’s my imprisonment or-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Neild says fiercely, whipping around to face them, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence Obi-Wan. We won’t just give you up. We can survive this.”

“Can we? Look around, Nield, we need supplies. Do you know they carry bacta just for bruises? What we consider lifesaving is their basic medicine. Even if Mal’s strike is successful, and the threat is dealt with, there will be other threats. And we will still be without a hospital. My freedom, my life, is nothing in comparison to what we could gain.”

“It is everything,” Daria argues, “There is a difference between casualties of tragedy, and willingly sacrificing one of our own in the hopes that strangers keep their word and give us bacta.”

She isn’t wrong, but neither is he.

Obi-Wan sighs, running a hand through his hair, “We must talk to them, at least. We can only distract them for so long.”

¬

There are lots of ways Obi-Wan can present his story. He is a politician, a warrior, and a storyteller. He can twist the truth however he wishes, and he might try if he weren’t so tired. But he is. Force, he is so tired.

He brings a cup to his mouth with a trembling hand, scalding tea leaving a quiet calm in its wake. Daria hovers behind his chair, a weapon on her hip. He was too tired to argue. The Mandalorians track his movements, helmuts tucked under their arms. It is almost uncanny that people so warm can quickly become so cold. So suspicious.

“Perhaps, you should begin by asking your questions?” Obi-Wan suggests softly, cup rattling against saucer as he sets it down.

They exchange a look.

“Are you a Jedi?” the Manda’lor asks.

Daria’s knuckles are white on the handle of her knife. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself and sends a soft pulse of comfort towards her.

“Another simple question that is more complicated than you realise,” Obi-Wan muses, wishing for Jedi robes for the first time in a long time, “I was once a Jedi Padawan, seven years ago.”

“And you didn’t think it pertinent information to share?” Ser Myles says.

“He doesn’t owe you anything,” Daria snaps.

Obi-Wan rests a hand over hers, “It wasn’t pertinent. I am not a Jedi, I never achieved Knighthood. And you seem to forget that any atrocities committed by ancient Jedi were repaid in kind. I have more reason to fear three trained traditionalist Mandalorians than you do a half-trained Jedi.”

The Manda’lor considers him, “And how did you end up a half-trained Jedi on a wartorn planet in the Middle Rim?”

“Chance, perhaps?” Obi-Wan shrugs, “Or the Force. My Master and I were sent here on a mission, to retrieve another Master. She was injured and needed immediate medical attention, but I refused to leave the Young. My Master was in love with her, and his judgement impaired. He repudiated me and told the Jedi I was lost. I imagine I’ve been presumed dead, and a funeral held.”

It is the bare bones of the truth, the story without the emotion. He is too tired to give them his grief today. Daria squeezes his hand in comfort.

“So,” Jango says, “You left the Jedi, to help fight a war? And they just let you?”

“My Master just let me,” Obi-Wan corrects, “Master Jinn was a difficult man, with a difficult past, but the Jedi raised me and loved me. The blame does not lie with the organisation as a whole. It was Master Jinn, given responsibility he shouldn’t have had by Master Yoda. don’t mistake my life as another reason to let your hatred fester.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Ser Myles says gently, as though Obi-Wan is fragile.

There is a universe, Obi-Wan is sure, where Qui-Gon Jinn was a better man. Or perhaps just one where Obi-Wan was more desperate for the future he was promised. In that universe Obi-Wan Kenobi would be just one piece of a larger puzzle. He would be a warrior, a peacekeeper, a Jedi.

In this universe, Obi-Wan is the only Force Sensitive on the planet. He is a politician, a peacekeeper, and perhaps even something of a warrior. He is many things but he hasn’t been a Jedi for a very long time.

Such things won’t matter to Mandalorians. It’s a shame really, he thinks, because he was really starting to like them.

His arms shake with phantom weight and sweat cools on his temple. The screams of children echo in his ears, threatening to drag him away into bloodsoaked memories. Despite it all, he can see the moment it clicks in their eyes.

“You’re a Jedi,” Jango says hollowly.

Not anymore, Obi-Wan thinks but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. Holding up large buildings with nothing but the Force and determination is not as easy as it looks. He’s running out of energy.

He takes a deep breath, “Call Daria, Prince Fett, she’ll be able to help you. Tevari, what’s happening?”

There’s a groan from somewhere behind him, “Evacuation protocol has started. All the babies are out, but the third floor is blocked off. And I’m… Obi I can’t feel my legs.”

He curses silently. The floor they’re on was the second until it became a pile of rubble. It was also their improvised NICU. So the rest of the floor has been cleared then, and it’s just him and Tevari here. Him, about to collapse, and Tevari, trapped.

A particularly shrill scream sounds from the floor above them and the rubble shifts with Obi-Wan’s flinch.

¬

Jango doesn’t know what to do in this situation, he just knows that people are dying and he’s staring at a comm. Minister Kenobi isn’t looking at them anymore. There’s someone else in the room with him, someone who sounds young and scared.

His buir swears, and snatches Jango’s comm from him.

“Minister Kenobi, what is the situation?”

“Bad,” Minister Kenobi wheezes, “There’s a fire spreading and the whole building is unstable. We need help. Call Daria.”

The connection cuts out, and Jango can’t be sure if it was interference or Kenobi just hung up on them.

“Buir-”

“You heard him,” Myles interrupts, “Call Minister Daria. There’s a hospital full of children that’s been bombed, and they need help. We can deal with the maybe Jedi problem later. Call Daria, Jango.”

Hands shaking, he keys in the code for Minister Daria.

¬

Daria wants to scream, to cry, to collapse on the floor and curl up in a ball. She can’t do any of those things, so she calmly directs the flood of people leaving the hospital and hopes Obi-Wan will appear among them. Daria was eleven when they ended the war. He’s been there, a guiding star and her best fucking friend, since then. She doesn’t want to see a world that doesn’t have him in it.

The Mandalorians are helped to evacuate the building, no doubt looking for Obi-Wan so they can- well she’s not sure exactly what they want with him.

After she hugs him, she’s going to kill him. How hard would it have been to include this in the brief. Hey Daria, the Mandalorians kind of really hate Jedi? Might want to watch out for that as well as the war stuff. See? Not hard! Idiot. She’s going to strangle him.

“If you have minor injuries please get checked out at the blue tent! More severe injuries will be treated in the green tents. If you are not injured make your way home and attend a check up in the morning. The situation is under control,” Herti says into their megaphone, “If you need help, Minister Daria,” Daria raises an arm, “and Minister Sergild will direct you. If you cannot find either of them, inform your evacuator of your needs.”

They’ve been making that announcement every ten minutes for the past hour.

“Minister Daria,” she jumps at the voice in her ear, “This young woman insisted she be brought to you first.”

Behind her, stands Ser Myles with Tevari in his arms.

She could try with relief, “Tevari, you’re okay! Obi-Wan-”

Tevari grasps her arms desperately, “He went further in, to try and keep it stable longer. He told me to find you. Obi says that he can keep going for at least an hour but-”

“He lies,” Daria says, “He always lies.”

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet in confusion.

“He can do it,” Tevari clarifies, “But it might kill him. It would definitely leave him in a coma. He’s injured, Daria, and it’s almost too much. He hasn’t had to do anything like this for ages. We have to find him.”

She nods, trying to be soothing, “It’s going to be okay, Teva. The evacuation is nearly finished, they’ll find him. It’s all going to be fine. Take her to the green tent, Ser Myles.”

Tevari’s hands fall away from her, eyes closing, “You lie too.”

¬

There is fire and smoke and Jango can barely see anything. There aren’t many people left inside, but the search for Minister Kenobi continues. Another injured child had reported he went further into the collapsing structure. (They’re all children, how can they all be children?)

A grunt up ahead draws Jango’s attention and he hurries forwards.

Minister Kenobi stands with his hands thrust into the air, knees bending and blood streaming down his face. There’s a child clutching his legs, and their terrified eyes find Jango’s.

“Help,” they whimper.

Obi-Wan stares forlornly at what was once a pancake but is now nothing more than a burnt crisp. It’s not that he’s a bad cook, it’s just that he’s easily distracted. And that’s not even his fault! Anakin is very distracting.

“I don’t think we can eat that,” Anakin observes, standing on the tips of his toes to stare into the pan.

You don’t say, Obi-Wan thinks wryly. He chucks the burnt lump out and pours fresh batter into the pan.

“Now,” he turns to Anakin, “I have to watch this and not play pirates.”

He pouts, “Aww, but we were just getting into it! You were about to be captured by the evil pirate king Bluer and I was going to rescue you and then we were going take over the whole ship and throw him out the airlock because he was a bad man. And then we would’ve gone and fought the rest of the evil pirate empire and make our own good pirate empire.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan says.

“Yeah! And then we would go back to the Outer Rim and find and destroy all the Hutts! And we’d take over Jabba’s palace and make it all pretty and cosy and lovely. And it would be our base of operations for all the good pirate empire things we would do!”

Anakin puts his skinny arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and says quietly, “And we’d rescue my mom and she’d help us defeat the last of the evil pirates.”

Obi-Wan pauses, looking down at his new favourite limpet. Anakin’s mother is still a bit of a sore point. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He still feels like a child too. They’re both just floundering around in the dark, hanging onto each other and hoping that they’re heading towards the light on the other side.

“Why couldn’t she come too?” Anakin asks into Obi-Wan’s hip.

“Only Master Qui-Gon can really answer that question,” he says carefully, “but I imagine Watto would only free one of you and your mother insisted it was you.”

“Then why haven’t we gone back for her?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan flips the pancake, “that’s more complicated. As an institution the Jedi have no authority in the Outer Rim, and we can only go where the Senate sends us. Though I want nothing more than to free your mother, to free every slave in the galaxy, it isn’t within my power to do so. Do you understand?”

Anakin is silent for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Is that ready? Obi you’re gonna burn it!”

He quickly flips the pancake onto the plate. It’s browner than he would’ve liked but not a burnt hunk. Improvements. Maybe he’s getting the hang of this cooking while distracted thing. He hands the plate to Anakin with a bowl of berries.

“Don’t put too much syrup on that!” Obi-Wan calls after him.

“Yeah yeah.” He knows Anakin is rolling his eyes.

Such a sassy child. How did Obi-Wan end up with the sassiest nine-year-old in the galaxy? And the most berry obsessed? They keep running out of berries. Anakin eats more berries than he does chocolate. Which is criminal in Obi-Wan’s opinion. Imagine liking anything more than chocolate? Couldn’t be him. Should he put chocolate in the pancakes next time?

“You’re gonna burn it again,” Anakin says, making Obi-Wan jump.

“Right,” he mumbles, dumping the pancake onto the pile.

Obi-Wan grabs the plate and another bowl of berries to take to the table. Breakfast after a morning game of pirates, at least two hours before lunch time. He really must be getting the hang of this.

“That’s a lot of syrup,” Anakin observes.

“I am much larger than you,” Obi-Wan says, “Therefore I can have more syrup.”

Anakin sighs, sounding thoroughly put upon, “Did Healer Che tell you to eat more calorie rich foods again?”

“No,” Obi-Wan reaches over to flick his braid, “I just like syrup.”

“Liar,” Anakin says, grinning, “You’re a really bad liar Obi.”

“Shut up and eat your pancakes.”

¬

Anakin wakes with a start, the sounds of his mother’s tears still echoing in his ears. He clutches the stuffed bantha Obi gave him tightly. Nightmares suck. He pushes his bedding to the side and tiptoes towards his door.

The door to Obi-Wan’s room is slightly open like it is every night. Anakin slips inside and creeps towards his bed. Obi is lying pressed against the wall, arm flung out across the bed.

There’s a ringing in Obi-Wan’s ears as he stumbles to his feet, dust and smoke obscuring his view.

¬

The explosion shakes the walls of the Fortress. Jango’s eyes snap open, mind caught between the present and the past. Screaming, smoke, Jango cowering under a table age 12, troops next to him and then gone.

He shakes himself, sitting up. He’s in the Fortress, not Sundari. And something in the city has just exploded. He doesn’t know why, or even what. But it was big and there could be more. Is it terrorism? he wonders, Or something else? He pulls his armour on, muscle memory taking over. He doesn’t wear it during negotiations but when things are blowing up he feels it might be alright to break protocol.

Myles and his father are already in the common room, helmuts under arm.

“It came from the direction of the hospital,” Myles says.

“The lights on that side of the city have gone off,” his buir continues, “And there’s been some yelling in the corridor. We thought we’d wait for you before looking for the Council.”

Jango nods, “Alright, let’s go then.”

¬

Daria rests her head on the table, the voices of the Council a comforting buzz around her. She should be contributing but she can’t bring herself to move. Obi-Wan was in the hospital when it exploded. Obi-Wan had been summoned there only an hour before. Was that a coincidence? Or was someone in the hospital working with the Elders?

“It must have been the Elders,” she says finally, cutting through the chatter.

Nield sighs, “We don’t know that, though, and if we throw the accusation out there it might push them to act.”

Daria rolls her eyes, “Who else could it be?”

“The Elders have been making a lot of noise lately,” Mal says, “This faction has been calling themselves “The Originals”. They claim to be descendants of the Melida and the Daan who started the first war.”

Eris snorts, “Who knew all it took to get the Elders working together was winning the war and not letting them govern.”

Nield shoots him a look he can’t see, “Yes well, have they claimed responsibility?”

“No,” Mal says.

“Have we heard anything from the hospital?” Nield asks.

“No,” Mal says.

“From Obi-Wan?”

“No.”

“Kind of,” Daria says, “He’s alive.”

Nield sighs, rubbing his eyes, “Well, that’s something. They have a better chance with him there, at least.”

“If he wasn’t there, they might not have been attacked at all,” Eris points out.

“Has anyone checked on his Mandalorians?” Jyfn asks.

Nield sighs, “Eris, try and get in contact with the hospital, Jyfn dispatch search and rescue, Mal work on figuring out who did this, Daria try Obi-Wan again, and I will deal with the Mandalorians .The rest of you… just be useful. Why did this have to happen now?”

“Because this is MelidaDaan,” Parasi says.

“We’re always one disaster away from collapse,” Eris agrees.

“And we’re always in the middle of a disaster,” Parasi continues.

Nield looks up at the ceiling, “Fuck you Cerasi, this should’ve been your problem. Why’d you leave me to wrangle the idiots?”

Daria allows herself a small smile.

¬

It’s been three weeks but Jango feels no closer to figuring out the maze that is the Fortress. He can get to the exits, his room, the archives and the hall just fine. But the Council aren’t in any of those places.

They’ve been wandering around for nearly forty minutes before Jango gives up and pulls out his comm.

“What are you doing?” Myles asks, joining Jango on the bench.

“Calling Minister Kenobi,” Jango says.

The comm rings for a full minute before a grainy image of Minister Kenobi crackles into view. He looks… terrible. Even in the miserable quality of a hand comm.

“Hello there,” he greets, as though there isn’t blood on his face and screams in the background.

His arms are raised in a way that tickles Jango’s warrior brain unpleasantly.

“Where are you?” Jango asks, concern growing.

“I-” Obi-Wan grunts suddenly, knees bending under an invisible weight, “I am currently in the centre of a bomb site holding up tons of duracrete and… I actually don’t remember the word in Basic. Where are you? Are you and your companions alright?”

A tooka he may be, but he’s still a General and a Councillor. He still has a war to fight.

Obi-Wan is definitely in this situation on purpose. He absolutely meant to fight Ventress while he’s twenty times smaller and only able to wield his lightsaber with his mouth. Yup. Not at all an accident. Cody’s going to kill him.

“I can feel your presence General,” Ventress calls, “Why don’t you come out and face me? Are you still recovering from whatever had you out of the field? Are you afraid?”

No, he thinks, I’m just the size of a tuber. He hunches down, hackles rising. If he can just surprise her… there. She’s right above him.

Obi-Wan launches himself out of his crate, lightsaber flicking on with a clench of his jaw. He’s so close when he feels himself pulled to a sudden stop, hovering in midair. He can’t help it, he lets out a disappointed and very embarrassing whine.

Ventress circles him, eyes raking over his too small body, “It can’t be. General Kenobi, you’re so… small.”

He yowls, wiggling his paws uselessly.

“And ridiculous,” there’s laughter in her voice, “By the Force, look at those tiny paws. You have your ‘sabre in your mouth Kenobi, and you expect me to take you seriously? Is this a ploy? Because if so it’s working. I can’t hurt a tooka. Especially not one as cute as you.”

She boops his nose. The indignity! He may be confined in this body but he is still a General of the Republic! The Negotiator! A… oh she’s very good at giving scratches. Maybe he can just take a minute to enjoy it before he finds a way out of this. Yes, that wouldn’t be so bad.

“You are just the cutest.”

A series of explosions echoes through the base and Obi-Wan twists in the air. Where did those come from? Is that his men? It’s only a little embarrassing to need to be rescued. Another explosion sounds, this one much closer. He feels his men’s presences drawing closer.

A third explosion sends a wave of heat over Obi-Wan’s fur as the far wall ceases to exist and the 212th pours through.

“Get away from my General,” Cody snaps, blaster in hand.

“Your General? How cute. Well,” her hand disappears from his head and Obi-Wan whines, “I must be going. Better move fast if you want to catch your General before he hits the floor.”

¬

Cody dives forward, hands closing around his General as Ventress disappears into the night. He curses internally. At least Obi-Wan seems mostly unharmed, if a little disgruntled. Good, that means Cody can yell at him.

He raises the General to his face, so he can look into his eyes, “And what have I said about wandering off?”

The General squeaks, twitching his tiny ears. Around them, the 212th works on stabilizing the building and pursuing Ventress. They leave The General Scolding to Cody.

“You have to stay with the group,” he continues, “No matter how shiny anything is or how cute you think the children are. Stay. With. The. Group.”

Obi-Wan sends an impression of resigned apology, whining when Cody keeps staring at him. He waits another few seconds before giving in, and placing the General on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re alright, General,” he says quietly, “But please never do that again. You can’t fight like this.”

A frustrated growl rumbles through Obi-Wan’s tiny body and he turns in a tight circle before settling down again and curling into a ball. The message is clear. He’s annoyed with his tiny body and Cody’s rules. Well, that’s probably fair.

¬

Obi-Wan observes Ahsoka’s The Force and it’s Philosophy 5 class from his place between the peaks of her montrols. The current topic is one of his favourites, What is the Force?.

That’s the Yertrt Model of the Force, not the Corillian, he sends, looking over Ahsoka’s datapad.

Did Skyguy ever take this class? Ahsoka asks, correcting her answer.

No, Anakin quit after Force and Philosophy 2. He thought it was boring. He took AstroMech all the way up to 8 instead.

Ahsoka hums thoughtfully, sending a wave of fond exasperation at her Master to him. Obi-Wan sends the impression of a shrug back. Anakin would have benefited from in depth lessons on the Force but forcing him would’ve only made his resentment grow. Probably.

“Padawan Tano,” Master Windu stops in front of her desk, “Not everyone has a grandmaster on their head feeding them answers. Give Obi-Wan to me, and get on with your work.”

Ahsoka huffs but complies. She scoops Obi-Wan off her head and hands him to Mace.

You are a dirty cheater, Mace tells him, placing him on his shoulder.

Ahsoka simply makes use of the resources she has at her disposal.

Dirty. Cheater. Mace reiterates, You are giving her bad habits.